White Houses
by AnthyRose
Summary: He alone was the protector, no longer one of four. But while on a routine run, the Nightwatcher suddenly finds himself caught in the rift of an inescapable past...that of Raphael Hamato. Raphael/Mona Lisa
1. Prologue

Primary Movie-verse, (2007) but takes a page from a little of everything. (Cartoons, comic books) No Max winters, no immortal stone statues. When Leo returned, there was no city to save to bring the family together; only unresolved bitterness and anger, and 9 years later, that anger still festers. Also a sort of origin for Mona Lisa.

_Note: this chapter was edited 8-28-10. The original chapter was published on 5-2-07._

Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT.

o

He heard the scream at 2:21 a.m.

Distant and small and muffled by the many sounds of night traffic, it came. He heard it clear as day, even above the honks of passing cars and loud music.

_Like a needle in a hay stack_.

Later, he would question as to how he'd heard the scream at all from such a distance. But now, now there was only urgency, an anxiousness to get there and kick ass; to vent the frustration that, as of late, had been steadily building.

_Showtime_.

He revved the engine of the bike and took off, swerving through traffic, dodging intersections and stop lights, barely missing the pedestrians that lined the sidewalks and alleyways. His fingers gripped the handle bars tightly, and he coaxed the bike faster, leaning forward. It was the ultimate freedom; like flying, like an unending freefall, where all his cares and worries were momentarily forgotten for those split seconds. With the wind pounding against him and his heart racing and his adrenaline _pumping_—

He abruptly slowed.

The city was too full, even at this early hour, and it was stupid to attract unnecessary attention. He didn't feel like flying anymore, anyway. It was always like this, there were always boundaries, no matter _who_ he was. Beneath the helmet, his face darkened into a scowl.

The screaming had long since died away. Maybe he hadn't heard it at all; maybe he had imagined it, so desperate was he for a fight. The scowl melted into a frown. It wasn't like him to make mistakes like that, to simply 'imagine' things. He was too well grounded, too seasoned, _too experienced _for such a slip-up.

And that feeling, that nagging little premonition thing that - as of late- had been happening more and more often on his nightly outings, was on edge. _Screaming_ at him to _pay attention_.

He drew a slow breath.

Yes, the shit was definitely about to hit the fan. Of this he was certain. And he found himself glaring now because of it, staring straight ahead through the narrow, visored window of his helmet.

_He_ _hated_ _it_.

_Hated_ resorting back to _those_ techniques, even if it was on an unconscious level. He'd worked hard to snuff out all that bushido philosophical crap. Nine years. And all it took was less than one week for it all to come undone—

The sudden squeal of tires broke through his thoughts. The glare of a windshield was all he caught before the car rounded the corner.

If it had been any other night, he wouldn't have even noticed the car. This was New York, after all. Even _cops_ drove like crazies. It wasn't all that uncommon to see a car round a corner on two wheels.

…even if it _was_ pitch black and the car didn't have its head lights turned on. The gnawing awareness in his head grew. He hesitated; reluctant, slightly torn, before throwing caution to the wind and taking off after it. _It's probably nothin'_, he told himself. The city had been quiet as of late; thanks in part- he liked to think- to his own efforts. It was quiet and he was bored, and now he was being paranoid, creating drama where there was none. Busting the heads of petty criminals didn't hold quite the same satisfaction as it had in his younger days. Never-the-less, he continued to follow at a distance. Several times he had to stop completely just to make sure he wasn't getting too close. No use in taking unnecessary risks.

The car was black. It blended seamlessly with the shadows around it, deep and glossy, and the glare of overhead street lights only confirmed it. The windows were deeply tinted, and so dark he couldn't tell where the paint ended and the glass began. _Somethin'_ _to_ _hide_, _much?_ There were mandates on how dark a person could tint their vehicle windows, and he was pretty damned sure they had exceeded it. But what struck him the most, what sent fine shivers of apprehension running through him, was the license plate. It had the unobtrusive tag of an unmarked car.

_Government_ _official?_ That explained the tint at least, but...

He frowned.

Ahead of him, the car rounded another corner, turning sharply, and without thinking he cut his engine, left foot jerking silently to flip the kick stand. Only moments later did he realize what he'd done.

_What the hell-_

The sudden slamming of doors halted all thought, and his attention turned back to the matter at hand. The car had stopped and people were getting out. He let out a breath, fogging his visor. _Lucky_. He'd shut off the bike before they'd actually stopped driving. That meant they hadn't heard him.

…it also meant that the annoying little ninja stealth thing was still there, giving him forewarning. He pushed it back hard, hopping off his bike and easing silently along the brick wall of the alleyway towards the car and its occupants. He paused just at the corner, shell pressed awkwardly against the wall, holding his breath.

They'd stopped near the back entrance of an old, red bricked building. It was in one of the better parts of the city; the buildings were old, but obviously well cared for. At a glance, he saw nothing significant about the place. There were numbers beside the door along with a small plaque probably containing the name, but it was too far away for him to read by moonlight. He narrowed his eyes, turning his attention to the car's occupants.

_Three of 'em_, he counted. Three _guys_. Too far away to make out any significant detail. Except for the fact that all three were wearing sunglasses.

_Sunglasses?_ At _this_ hour? It was still dark out. The streetlights in this area, for whatever reason, didn't even seem to be working, and the buildings around them were all darkened. _Businesses_, he noted distractedly. So why-

Okaay…

_Just a buncha weirdos. Don't even tryn' figure 'em out._

But it bothered him. Some kinda club maybe? Something about them seemed young; probably they were college students. Maybe this was one of those fraternity things he'd seen on TV…some stupid little initiation thing. He hadn't actually seen the guys do much of anything except break a whole lot of traffic rules. And yet the feeling persisted. _Insisting_.

_I got too much time on my hands…_

When one of the men walked over to the other car door, the one on the rear passenger side, he was barely paying attention, already beginning a silent retreat towards his bike. He was _way_ too wound up. Casey would _never_ let him live it down: _the Nightwatcher stalking a buncha emo frat boys. Ha!_

Even when the man began pulling out what looked to be a human-sized form wrapped in a sheet—

He stopped in his tracks.

_Hello_…_and what have we here?_

Some kinda murder cover-up? A kidnapping ring? The intricacies of the situation alluded him, but rarely did he have the full story before acting anyway. Humans had their own judicial system, but tonight _he_ would be their judge. He swung a leg over the bike, hit the lights, revved the engine, and _charged_.

They didn't run.

Oh, they were surprised to see someone so close. Surprised, even, he guessed, that anyone had even bothered to noticethem. But they weren't running, and that was not a good sign. The shock of his appearance faded quickly. The one holding the body slunk into the background while the other two came at him.

No. Not came_. Flew._

They were on him before he could blink, knocking him from the bike, the back of his head slamming into asphalt. For a moment he saw stars; and then he was rolling out the way, just as a booted foot stomped into the ground where his head had been. He heard the crunch of gravel as it broke through tar.

_What the—?_

A sudden blow to his side knocked the wind out of him. _Damn_! He'd forgotten about the other one. They were fast…_too_ _fast_. His eyes darted frantically around, trying to locate the third guy. He couldn't lose track of them all. Not the way things were—

_WHAM!_

Another hit, this time centered directly to the skin between his shell and plastron. He doubled over. _Why hadn't he seen that coming?_

_Too fast. _They were too fast, and in his weighted suit he was no match for them. He had never been one for speed, but his hits had always been powerful. If he could just catch one of them off guard…

Out of habit he reached for his sai, only just remembering that they weren't there. They hadn't been there for a long time. Cursing, he reached for the manriki wrapped around him instead, hoping it'd be enough of a distraction to catch at least one of them off guard. He straightened, prepared for an opening, clutching the chain as one of the men appeared before him.

His initially assumption about them had been correct, at least where this one was concerned. He was young, no more than a boy really. An ordinary boy with indiscriminant features, fair haired and narrow faced. If he saw him on the street, he doubted he'd even recognize the kid—

The boy smiled. A slow, deliberate, _arrogant_ smile that he himself had certainly worn enough times to recognize. On the boy's slight face it looked alien and inhuman. He wanted to knock the stupid sunglasses right off his face.

He ducked, barely dodging the one who'd swung out from behind him, and something sharp grazed the shell beneath his armor. _When had that happened? _And why the hell was he having so much trouble reading their movements?

But wait... he wasn't _supposed_ to be reading moves at all! He didn't use _those_ techniques anymore…he wasn't Raphael-

He was the Nightwatcher, street vigilante of justice, and he was _losing_ it.

_Geez_, he thought, barely turning in time to dodge a fist coming at him. He ducked again, spun on his heels, effectively close-lining the man who'd snuck from behind. Without hesitating, he lifted a heavily booted foot and stomped into the man's chest.

There was a sickening sound; a pop, a gurgle, but then he was being wrestled into the brick wall by the other one, grabbed in a choking hold by hands that barely covered the whole of his neck. But somehow, somehow those tiny hands were _strong_. Stronger than _him_, even.

His vision dimmed.

_Damn__!_ No way to go out. He flailed his legs, and in a half-assed attempt, reached out a hand and flung off the sunglasses. _Hah!_ It was childish and petty and _useless_ and he was still probably going to die, _but_ _no_ _more_ _glasses_, _pal!_

The hands around his neck immediately loosened, and he fell to the ground, breathing hard, taking in great gulps of air, trying to resist the urge to remove the helmet that prevented him from getting _more_ air. He pushed himself into a semi-crouch, one arm braced shakily against the ground, watching the boy stagger away from him. He was pulling himself to his feet when the boy screamed.

It was a sound he'd never heard. At least, not from a human being. A sound that made his blood run cold and his skin prickle.

_Do not dabble in the affairs of humans_.

The words were a whispered curse through his head. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists. He couldn't think of that now. He had only one chance. Bending to scoop up his fallen manriki, he took a deep breath and lunged.

He had expected the guy to dodge, to deliver one of those frighteningly powerful blows. But the man stayed still, flailing like a fish out of water, hands stretched before him like he was blinded, like there was some bright light source beaming down at him-

-except that it was pitch black, and the only source of light in the alley was from the headlights of his fallen bike.

He swung the chain hard. The weighted end hung suspended for a moment, before crashing down into the head of the erratic man. He didn't wait for a reaction. Just started throwing heavy fists into the guy's face, sinking a well positioned knee just below his ribcage. It was a far cry from the graceful way he'd been trained to fight; the polar opposite, in fact. Criminals didn't have a code of honor, so why should he? He had to beat them at their own game, fight as _they_ fought.

_Look at you! Look at what you've become!_

His fist froze, mid-punch. The window of his helmet was fogged and specked with spittle.

_You shame our master's name. He never intended for our abilities to be used this way!_

_Leo_, he thought growling, and continued pounding the thing below him, harder now. Of all the fucking times. Of all the times to remember—!

_Well to hell with you, Leo,_ he thought. He'd never used ninjutsu as the Nightwatcher anyway; he had never intended to...though not out of any premeditated loyalty. Not at first, anyway. It had just been too risky, using Raphael the Turtle's moves. The style was too obvious, would be immediately noticeable if anyone caught wind of him. That was what the suit was for. It was weighted and heavy, effectively disguising not only his body, but any telltale moves he might unconsciously slip into.

Of course, it had its drawbacks, too. The suit physically slowed him. His reaction time had taken a nose-dive, but until tonight there had never been a _need_ to_—_

He stopped, breathing hard, coming back to the present.

The guy had long since stopped struggling, drawing in gasping breaths, choking on the blood that pooled within his throat and stained the battered, pale, face. Dead? No. Not yet, at least.

_But he should be._

The words lingered softly in his head. Just the force of the blow from his manriki should've finished him off. And yet here he was; whatever _'he'_ was, still breathing, even while his lungs filled with blood. And try as he might, he could not squash the instinct telling him that this person should be killed _right now. _These people were not…normal.

There was something… ancient..._animalistic_ about the man on the ground. _Reptilian_. They had looked human on the outside, even had some of the same vulnerabilities from what he'd been able to hit, but the eyes. He'd seen those eyes for a split second when he'd knocked off the sunglasses. They were—

O_h hell_. He broke off mid-thought. There had been three of them. _Three_. He rose slowly, the sudden burst of adrenaline fading as quickly as it had come. In its place a slow weariness settled, but he shook it off looking rapidly around. _Three_ _men_. Two of them were currently on the ground. The last one…the third one had been holding the body, slipping into the shadows-

He jumped to attention, spinning, eyes everywhere, breath coming hard and fast, fogging the window of the helmet. There was the car, he thought quickly, the passenger door still slightly ajar-

And his bike. It was still on the ground, headlights blaring angrily into the night. He didn't hear anything, no noise, not even the ally cats that preyed on the mice and trash. And he didn't _feel_ anything either, he noticed. No strange presences. The night had become uncharacteristically still. He took a deep breath, trying to slow the hammering in his chest, and began the trek to his bike.

It was slow work. They'd gotten him better than he'd originally thought. Sharp pain ran through him like currents, and he thought he felt a wetness on his left calve. His head was pounding and he grit his teeth. He'd feel like shit in the morning once the shock wore off. He tried to remember if he had any supplies back home. Casey had brought down some bandages a few days before, but he was running low on antiseptic. He threw a wary glance at the car again, this time stopping dead.

From his previous position over the man, he hadn't been able to see it. But now, illuminated by the light of his bike, the large heap crumbled beside the wheel of the car was very much apparent.

Was it the other-

He clenched his fists. No way could he take on another one of 'em! He'd barely survived the _first_ two- But even as he said it, he was setting his jaw, squaring his legs and bracing himself, itching, for the first time, to take off the suit. He'd have a chance then, maybe. If nothing else he could inflict at least as much damage as possible before he went down. His body was already sliding into form, legs apart, knees slightly bent in a stance he hadn't taken in years. His body protested; he felt the tear in his back calve split, the sharp sting of pain, but at the same time _anticipation. _

He couldn't do it. The thought of sullying his father's memories, of using his training to—

He swallowed, tasting bile, blinking back the lump in his throat. No, he would not use those techniques. But he wouldn't run, either.

But was the heap wasn't moving, he noticed suddenly. Trying to throw him off, maybe? Some kinda trick? And then he realized that it wasn't one of the weird boys at all; it was the body, still wrapped like a mummy in the sheet. _That guy m__ust've dropped it an' ran_, he decided finally.

Yes, that had to be it. It was the only explanation he could come up with. The only one he wanted to believe, truthfully. But another part of him, the rational part, disagreed. _You idiot! Why would he run_, it shot back viciously. _He could finish you off like NOTHING right now. _

And it was true, as much as it stung him to admit. But he was already at the bundle, glaring over it, wondering if he should just leave it. If the person was already dead there was nothing he'd be able to do, anyway…

But then the bundle moved, feather light. He might have missed it had he not been watching so closely. The person was still _breathing_. He reached thick fingers over, peeling away the material. His fingers shook, and the knuckles in his right hand looked slightly displaced. He hoped he hadn't broken it… He flexed the fingers, staring back towards the two unmoving forms. One was already dead, he was sure. The other still not moving, but he could hear the rattling breath. What to do about them?

_Do not dabble in the affairs of humans._

Yea, but these ain't human, are they? he scoffed.

_No, _he thought again. _Not human, but_—

He looked down. All this and the person didn't stir, did not make a sound. Drugged maybe? They had the breathing of one in deep slumber.

He sighed.

He'd have to find someplace to drop them off. Maybe a doorstep or something. He needed to DO things, needed to get going and _fast_ before his energy was completely gone. One of those.._creatures_ was still out there, and he needed to figure out what to do with the other two. He needed to get back to the lair, get some supplies, better weapons, so that when he found him, he could finish him right _then_. Someone else could get a doctor for this poor sap-

While he'd been thinking, his fingers were steadily pulling, unraveling, freeing, until the top half of the person lay completely uncovered. And when he suddenly glanced down his heart nearly stopped.

And for once in his life, the Nightwatcher was speechless.


	2. Mona

_Note: this chapter was edited on 8-29-10. The original version was published 5-15-07._

O

_No._

_It ain't possible_, he thought pacing the length of the room. The heavy boots were dull thuds against the stone floor; he hadn't bothered to remove them, had only torn the helmet from his head in a sort of anxious frenzy.

It couldn't be possible. It defied all laws. There was no way-

_But you saw yourself_, a voice countered. _T__he proof's layin' on your couch_.

Still unconscious.

He edged warily towards the figure.

In the darkened room he could barely make out the form, but he didn't need to. He'd already seen, in the loud, fluorescent glow of his headlights.

He would've known, wouldn't he? If someone like this had been living in the city…? There were only so many _'mutants'_ around, after all, he thought bitterly. _And no females_, another voice, a softer voice, added. _Until now_.

He drew back, breathing hard, body tensed. He wanted to wake her up, demand answers. Who the hell _was_ she? Where had she come from? What were those men doing? _Who_ were those men? There was one still out there, probably _more_, he realized, the possibility suddenly dawning. Maybe there hadn't been just three. Maybe there was a whole _crap load _of 'em-

And _why_ was she dressed like that? he wondered abruptly, suddenly irritated. In a neat little blouse and skirt? Like she could just waltz out in public like that and no one would notice that she wasn't human. What did she think she was? Some kinda secretary? _Yea right._ He ran a hand across his bald head.

He would wake her up, he decided. Didn't he have a right to know what was going on? She might be endangering them all! _Yea_, he thought silently, he would do it. And maybe…maybe she knew something about those guys, too. He was doing a _good_ thing. And it wasn't like he was revealing any big secret. She was one of _them_ after all.

Sorta.

It was hard to tell _what_ she was, really. Nothing he'd ever seen, but definitely not human.

He swallowed, jaw set, reaching out a tentative hand.

But centimeters away he froze. Fingers hovered over her, hesitating just at the shoulders, barely touching the starched fabric of the blouse before pulling back. He cursed.

Whipping around, he yanked at the coffee table instead, shoving away the empty cans and pizza boxes in an angry spray of crumbs and aluminum before sitting, swallowing a growl.

_Fine_, he thought. _Fine!_ _I'll let sleeping beauty sleep_. _For now_.

What was he _doing_? He shouldn't be here anyway. He had a crazy, deranged…thing…on the loose. He should be out _there_, doing his job instead of here, abandoning his post. Waiting for some freakin' _chick_ to wake up and wondering—

Wondering _what_? What was _wrong_ with him? He could feel his heart pounding, echoes of the beat drumming through his head, a source-less anger that consumed him and made his thoughts race wildly. Vaguely, he toyed with the thought of meditation. But he had never been able to successfully clear his mind completely, could never quite let go of the racing thoughts, the feelings, the sounds around him.

_Geez…_

He found himself pacing the room again, counting the quick, heavy thuds his boots made as he stomped across the floor. _One hour_, he thought, kicking a stray can across the room. _One hour and then I'm wakin' her_.

It was approximately 1 hour and 27 minutes when the figure on his couch began to stir.

O

Her back ached. That was her first thought. The second was that her bed felt unusually narrow and lumpy-

She opened her eyes.

The room was dark. Darker than dark, if there was such a thing. She threw out a hand, rooting clumsily for the bedside lamp, but couldn't seem to find it. What time was it, anyway? Her thoughts swam, and it was a moment before she realized she must have fallen asleep on the sofa. But then, why was it so _dark_? Not even the aquarium lights were on. She paused to rub at her eyes, but instantly stopped, wincing. They felt raw and tender, as though she'd been crying.

_Crying_?

She didn't _remember_ crying… But then, she couldn't remember falling _asleep_, either. She frowned. Or even going home, for that matter. It had been insanely busy, as of late. She would graduate next semester, and had been scrambling to get in the requisite time on her internship, pulling longer, last minute hours at the lab. The professors had- only half jokingly- warned them of 'burn out'. Was that what was happening to her? She blinked, palms pressed delicately against her eyes.

What time was it? _Late_, she assumed, because it was already pitch black. Why hadn't Jillian woke her? The cat was usually insistant about being fed on schedule. Plus, she was supposed to call her parents around eight. And then there was Tyler-

"You up over there?"

She went stock still at the sound of the voice, suddenly wide awake. She didn't know that voice. That wasn't Tyler's voice, or _anyone's _voice she was familiar with-

Alarmed, she grabbed at the edges of the sofa and attempted to pull herself up. At the sudden movement, her body rebelled. Laying still she had not felt any different, but moving brought an onslaught of dizziness. Her body didn't seem to want to obey her-

A wave of nausea had her doubling over, tumbling sharply to the cold floor below. There was a noise behind her, the indiscernible sound of a voice, but it took second fiddle to what was currently happening within her body. The sudden sharp pains in her abdomen, the clenching of her chest-

She was yanked back roughly by the collar of her blouse then, and what sounded like a tin pail was shoved unceremoniously beneath her face. She had barely time to react before her body began to force everything up.

She retched. Retched until there was nothing left within her. And even when she was empty her body still seemed compelled to heave up air. When she was done she stayed frozen, head bent over the bucket, body exhausted, face wet with silent tears, the dull echoes of a headache beginning to peak at her temple.

"Done?" It was the man, and his voice startled her, closer than she would have liked. She scrubbed at her eyes. A bottle of something was handed to her, and she took it with shaking hands, automatically assuming that it was water, taking a long swig and swishing it around her mouth before spitting into the bucket.

"Thank you," she said automatically, weakly accepting the towel that was tossed around her neck. She wiped her mouth. There was only a deep grunt in response, and the hand that was holding onto her collar loosened somewhat.

" Jus' try'n keep it in the bucket, will ya?" came the disgruntled reply. She didn't answer, concentrating instead on not being sick. The room had begun to spin and there was something tickling the back of her brain…something that didn't feel right about herself. She spared a glance down, towards her hands, only to be yanked, again by her collar, back over the bucket. Irritation swelled within her - she felt akin to a kitten being yanked by the scruff of its neck - and she sighed, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. When she opened them, she felt slightly stronger, though none the less bothered by the situation.

Where was she? She'd figured out by now that this wasn't her apartment. It smelled differently, there didn't seem to be any windows, and the floor was cold and hard. _Concrete_, her mind supplied absently, eyes searching frantically through the darkness. Just barely, if she squinted, she could make out the vague outline of the pail in front of her, but that was all. She felt cold fear creep within her, reached shaky fingers to her forehead which was beaded with sweat.

She shrugged away the hand on her collar, heart racing.

There was no reply, but he didn't try to stop her when she sat carefully up, slid slowly away. There. The nausea seemed to be at bay for the time being. Or if it wasn't, there was nothing she could do about it. First she had to figure out where she was-

And how she would get away.

She turned slowly towards the man. Or the direction she _thought_ he was in, anyway. In the dark it was hard to tell, but it sounded as though he had just sank into the sofa.

"Where am I?" It was terribly cliché, the most commonly asked question she could think of, but it was the only thing she could come up with, the only thing she really cared about at moment. …at least until question number two. And didn't those TV shows always say to keep the person talking? If he was talking, then he couldn't _think_; couldn't concentrate on her movements. She could possibly escape; if she could figure out what direction the exit was, that is.

Above her, she could barely make out a silhouette against the shadowy darkness. He was big, whomever he was. That much was obvious; both from his grip on collar her as well as the size of his barely discernable form against the shadows. Did he kidnap her? Was he a rapist? Certainly he had _kidnapped_ her at least. Why else would she be here? Where ever 'here' _was._

_Oh my God…_

For the first time the reality of the situation sank in. She had been kidnapped. Some guy had taken her. She'd be one of those milk carton kids; except that at twenty-two, she was too old to be one of them. No, she'd be on one of those unsolved mystery shows, instead; a thirty second fleeting image before her face was forgotten. And how long before anyone discovered she was even _missing_? She felt her blouse grow damp with sweat. A scream rose in her throat and she struggled to swallow it. She couldn't lose it now. She had to stay calm, get around this guy somehow, maybe find a weapon of sorts.

Still, she couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath, couldn't control her body as it slid anxiously away. The man appeared to notice and sat forward.

"Relax. I ain't gonna hurt ya." There was a glare in his voice; she had insulted him. But at the moment she was more concerned over her situation than the feelings of this stranger. She didn't answer, apprehension beating through her.

"You were bein' taken," the voice went on, casually, answering her unasked question, "I kicked ass and brought you here."

For a moment she was too shocked to respond. _'Kicked ass'? 'Taken'?_ What?

"_Why_?" There was a pause, and then the voice, thick and gruff, responded.

"…why? _Why_? Would you rather I _didn't_?" The voice sounded incredulous, very obviously offended and she sighed, impatient, edgy, _suspicious_.

"No! I mean…what I meant was..._why...who _was taking me?" Her tongue felt thick, she stumbled over the words, waiting anxiously for an answer. There was none; only silence. She cringed inwardly.

What was going on?

She shifted, trying to keep as quiet as possible, leaning forward on the ball of her foot in case she had to run for it. But the narrow, pencil skirt she wore made it impossible. She'd have to rip the side split to get enough running space. But... but he'd hear if she ripped it, she suddenly realized, he'd guess what she was doing.

_Not if you're quick enough, _another voice countered.

But if she wasn't…

_You don't have many options, girl!_

Okay. She took a shaky breath. _Okay…_ Trying to ignore the trembling in her hands, she grasped the edges, struggled for a moment. The fabric was thick. Or maybe she just wasn't pulling hard enough. She braced herself.

_Okay. Try again_.

She pulled. This time the skirt tore, but when she went to stand, her left foot rammed into what was probably the leg of the sofa. A dry hiss escaped her throat, and she fell back down, grabbing at the throbbing appendage. A part of her noted that her foot felt different, but at that moment, the pain took center stage.

The man muttered something incoherent.

"Listen kid, dunno what planet you're from, but around here it ain't exactly _safe_ for people like _us_ to roam the streets like that." He sounded irritated, and she heard him shift positions on the sofa.

Alarmed, she twisted, making a movement to stand, only to ram her shoulder into something sharp. This time she couldn't stop herself from crying out. There was a curse from the man, the groaning of springs as he lifted himself from the couch. Seconds later the room was flooded with light. For a moment she was blinded. Bright reds and greens danced before her eyes. She squeezed them shut and felt firm hands on her shoulder. She yelped, hands going out, flailing blindly at her attacker, but the man didn't seem to notice, didn't seem affected at all in fact, fingers pressing firmly on her shoulders.

"_Geez_…ain't you seen the table right'n fronta you?" he sounded very much annoyed. But his hand continued to massage the spot till it was nothing more than a dull ache.

What was going on? Who was this person? Had he really saved her as he'd said, she wondered, or was this all just some clever rouge to get her to trust him? But…if it was, what purpose could he have for deceiving her? She wasn't worth a lot of money, so it'd be pointless to hold her hostage. Besides that, she wasn't even _from_ New York, had no family here, had only come to attend college. She owned nothing of value, did she? She tried to think.

No…not even her apartment was worth much, she decided. And she didn't have a car. And…

What had happened to her to even warrant her _needing _saving? That was the thing she didn't understand. The thing that didn't make sense. The last thing she remembered clearly was going to work after class. She'd left the university by bike, peddling furiously because she was going to be late, and the staff was having some sort of meeting or something today, so she _couldn't_ be late. But when she'd gotten there something had happened. Something _wrong_. She'd seen something she wasn't supposed to. _And then_-

Her eyes popped open in sudden realization. She'd discovered-

She screamed.

With the lights on, she now had a clear view of her rescuer.

_OhmyGodohmyGod_….

Her body froze, and she could only stare up in horror at the creature who was not even five inches away from her. The thing fixed sharp brown eyes down at her, and she felt the hand on her shoulder tighten. A large g_reen_ hand with three fingers and-

_Oh my God…_

It was staring at her, head slightly tilted in what she probably would have tagged as confusion if she weren't so frozen with fear.

"What? Did I press too hard or somethin'?"

It was talking. There were actually _words_ coming out of its mouth—

_OH MY GOD_…

She felt faint. The dizziness in her head was returning but she shoved the green hands away and struggled to her feet. The memory that had shown so clearly in her head seconds ago vanished. Through her reeling thoughts, the only thing she could remember at the moment was that she'd been running. Probably from _this_ creature. What other explanation was there?

But even as she thought this, another part of her brain softly contradicted.

_The people who chased you were _human; _they didn't look like_ that.

_But those other creatures, locked away in their liquid canisters, did._

It was all too much, and she felt herself closing off, wrestling with sanity. This was no time to lose it. She had to get away. Her eyes darted wildly for an exit. _Any_ exit. The room was larger than she'd initially thought. Large and with several conjoining rooms. Dark rooms, she saw. Like a black abyss. She'd always hated the darkness, but now she moved towards it, hesitant at first and then at breakneck speed.

Behind her, the creature was saying something, calling after her, but she ignored it, concentrating instead on reaching the chosen exit before her. At least she _hoped_ it was an exit. Her body was exhausted, bereft. Unused to any sort of physical activity. Even as a child she'd hated doing anything that involved getting sweaty. There was no knight on a white horse, no one to save her, and she felt like crying.

No time. There was no time for self pity, or to think of what would happen if she were caught, so she pushed harder, exerting as much strength as she could into propelling her legs, bare feet slapping hard against the concrete floor.

Bare feet? _What happened to my shoes-!_

She slammed into a wall.

Or that's what it _felt_ like, anyway. And then she was skidding backwards, skinning the heels of her feet and landing hard on her behind. She was immediately up and backing away from the intimidating creature before her.

"What. The. Hell. Was _That?_ Huh?" It was in her face, no taller than she was. _But it's GREEN. Like…like a frog or something_. Except that the frog had a blood-red cloth tied like a mask around its eyes, eyes that were currently glaring darkly into her own. She felt her legs give way beneath her, and she sank to the floor, frozen.

_I__'m going to die_, she thought wildly. Those stories the locals told about monsters in the sewers...apparently they were _true_. Except that instead of alligators, there were…whatever the heck _it_ was. And now she was probably going to be eaten- She whimpered softly to herself. It was ironic. She couldn't remember being _half_ this scared before; minutes earlier when she thought him just a regular, dirty, sleazy criminal. But now…

Above her, the creature sighed and muttered something. A muffled phrase that sounded too chopped and concise to be English, but it was a passing thought, a fleeting one that flew from her mind as quickly as it had entered.

"Dammit what the _hell_ is with you?"

She winced, looking up into at the creature with wide eyes. The thing was yelling- _cursing_ at her. But more importantly it was _talking_. Quite well infact. And with a thick, lower eastern accent to boot._ Is it an alien?_ It could easily be some sort of alien being that had assimilated earth or something. She'd seen a movie once about that. Or maybe it was just part of an underground race of…of _things_. There were documentaries about things like that; prehistoric creatures that had evolved and were living beneath the earth. Her heart sped up. In the next instant, she spoke without thinking, the words flying from her lips like bullets.

"What _are_ you?"

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Her heart beat erratically within her chest, loud and pounding in her ears. She held her breath; _braced_ herself. What happened now? Would it attack her? _Eat_ her? Maybe it'd just kill her, plain and simple. Maybe-

A snort.

And then another, this time suspiciously like laughter, rang through the air. After a moment she chanced a glance upward. Was it…? The thing was laughing…..? Indignation rose within her, tempered just slightly by fear. It was laughing? At _her_? But before she could even begin to fathom the reason, the thing had begun to talk, spitting out a decidedly _un-amused_ answer.

"_Me_? Huh. You got some nerve. Just what the hell are _you_?"

She stared. Was it serious? She couldn't tell. The mouth was turned slightly upward in what could have been called a smirk had it been human. Except that the eyes looked hard. _Angry_. Or maybe it really _didn't_ know what humans were. But that couldn't be right. It was wearing _cloths_. It could _talk_. She shook her head, forgetting her fear to shout out a reply.

"I'm a _human_!" The laughter abruptly halted. All expression vanished from its face. Now it simply stared mutely down at her, eyes boring deep within her own, and with such an intensity that she had to look away. And finally, after what seemed like decades, it spoke, deadpan, monotone, like sand over rocky gravel.

"Thought you hit your shoulder…not your _head_." It turned stiffly away.

_What?_

What was _that_ supposed to mean? Daunted, she slowly began to rise, lifting her body carefully from the floor.

And that's when she noticed. She'd just glanced down at her feet; a passing gesture…not even really paying attention. But what she saw made her freeze with horror.

Her feet were green.

She already knew it was real, even before touching it. Her mind was whispering memories to her, projecting broken images that she couldn't understand, but that some part of her recognized. She didn't want to touch that foot. And yet, she did anyway, running soft, green fingertips along the edges of her heel. Soft, lineless green, like an unrippened lime, slightly moist as though she'd just stepped out of the shower. The foot itself was different, wider, long and splayed, each digit stretched like rubber, the tips slightly bulbous.

Her hands began to shake. Hands just as green as her feet, just as stretched and—

The tips of her fingers ghosted along her face. Did she really want to know? Could she handle-

And then she was screaming. A shrill, hysterical, _mournful _scream. Suddenly she was no longer in the strange concrete room with the strange green creature. She was at the lab, 7 minutes late for work, trying to sneak in without being noticed by the staff. But the staff was non-existent; they always got there a good 10 minutes before she did. They were probably in the lab by now-

The sudden, sharp brunt of pain was enough to bring her spiraling back to the present. There was the creature again, this time straddling her hips, hands clamped tightly around her wrists. She was breathing hard, and the left side of her face still stung from the blow.

She turned her head away, suddenly weary. Her body went slack, and above her, the creature let out a feral growl.

"You," he stated hoarsely, "got serious problems."


End file.
